


The Ragtag Gang of Turncoats

by cykelops



Series: Butchered Retellings [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Trans Fenris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 01:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cykelops/pseuds/cykelops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke takes Fenris to a party for the Inquisitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ragtag Gang of Turncoats

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbetad so mistakes r a given
> 
> thank you all for your feedback, negative or positive, it's appreciated

When Fenris thought he had finally silenced Hawke's protests, the man begun anew. Hawke dropped to his knees on the floor of the carriage and spread Fenris' legs apart so he could look up at him with his hands clasped together as if in prayer.

"Please, Fenris. Rethink this. I can send this hunk of metal back home at your say, I will walk to the party if I have to. Just please don't come to this stupid event." he pleaded. Fenris rolled his eyes at him and made a show of slowly moving his arms to cross over his chest. He was determined to see just what Hawke complained about so much when it came to these celebrations. 

"I am going. Whether you like it or not."

Hawke chewed on his lower lip and let out an exasperated sigh. "Then promise me you will stay by my side. At all times. If only to soothe my worries.”

Fenris’ gauntlets brushed softly against Hawke’s cheek and he allowed himself a small smile. “I tagged along to spend time with you, why would I stay away?”

Hawke seemed to calm down considerably at that, and he pressed a kiss to the heel of Fenris’ palm, unguarded by steel. The other man did not return to his seat, no matter how much Fenris protested the carriage’s erratic bouncing must be hell on his knees.

The ride to the party had been entirely uneventful. In their private carriage Hawke had been going off about all the things that could go wrong all the way there, including at least three bizarre assassination ploys and two kidnapping attempts that made Fenris seem like a damsel in distress. Fenris brushed off the other man's protests and stood his ground. It was Hawke's prejudice against the Orlesians talking, he thought, there was nothing about the ridiculously dressed noblemen he was not used to by now. 

Fenris watched the glow coming from the curtains of their carriage change tint as the sun begun to set. It was another half hour before the vehicle came to a stop and Hawke had fallen asleep with his head on Fenris’ lap while the elf stroked his graying hair.

The Inquisitor’s horned head was visible as he knocked lightly on the door. Hawke was startled awake and he shot a goofy grin at Fenris before another set of light knocks interrupted it.

“We’re coming!” he shouted and then lower but not enough the Herald could not hear him. “Ya big horned bastard…”

Fenris gave the Champion a stern look and Hawke lifted his hands above his head defensively. The elf had been worried Hawke and the Herald would clash due to Hawke’s internalized distrust of the Qunari race, but Hawke’s banter with the man seemed almost amicable. Fenris had been missing several months of his lover’s life now, and it made him uncomfortable to know at some point Hawke’s hatred for the Qunari had matured into a mutual understanding and even an alliance.

Hawke led Fenris out of his seat and stopped to slap the Inquisitor on the back with a rumbling laugh. There was something demure about the hulking Qunari that drew Fenris' attention to him for some time. The man exchanged only soft words with Hawke, and while he did not appear nervous nor did he fiddle aimlessly, somehow Fenris could tell the Vashoth was unused to Hawke's easy laughter and his friendly demeanor. Fenris grabbed his lover's arm and caught his attention in the middle of the rapid-fire rant he was subjecting the Inquisitor to and he could swear he saw a grateful look flash over the Qunari's usually blank face.

When they finally made it up the endless flight of stairs leading to the party Fenris allowed himself a few seconds to be mesmerized by the decor. The architecture of the estate was downright breathtaking, and a lot of care had been put into placing the torches and chandeliers just right. The marble floor had been polished so thoroughly it was a wonder they did not skid about as if on ice. Massive velvet curtains hung from the wall-high windows, drawn open to let in the moonlight. The chunky jewelry nearly every guest wore picked up the light that the endless row of candles lining the hall gave off, and the soft lull of conversation and music was surprisingly pleasant. He turned to Hawke to communicate his amazement to him and found the man staring at him with a smile in his face that made his cheeks light up with color.

“Nazari Adaar, with the Inquisition.” Nazari motioned to Hawke next to him. “My advisor, Athmael Hawke, accompanied by Fenris, his—” The Inquisitor found himself without a word to describe Fenris’ relationship with the other man but Hawke quickly swooped in to say the day.

“Husband. Half a decade and counting.” Hawke wiggled his ring finger and eyebrows at the poor servant hunched over a list of the guests invited to the party. 

The servant at the door quickly took their names, stood, and announced to the great hall that the Herald of Andraste and the Champion of Kirkwall had arrived to join the festivities. Nazari and Athmael both flinched visibly at the use of the titles and Fenris begun to take note of the little similarities between the two. People quickly gathered to meet the Herald, and Fenris had only a second to feel pity for the man as he was swallowed by the crowd.

"Fenris of Kirkwall, yes? Please come with me, your table has already been prepared and dinner is about to begin."

“Wait.” Hawke made a barrier between Fenris and the servant’s ushering motion. “He’s with me.”

“Messere Hawke, the hostess has taken great care to arrange her guests in a manner befitting of their stature, to upset that order is to insult the lady of the house.” explained the man.

Fenris watched was Hawke’s eyes darkened and he grit his teeth tightly. 

“Befitting of their stature—” he repeated. 

“It is only a temporary arrangement, Champion! I swear it.” hurried the servant. “My mistress would not keep you from your lover longer than need be necessary for the evening’s events—”

It did not take long for the elf to tie together the ends. The lady of the house had obviously done her homework when it came to the attendees. Whether it was his Tevinter origin or a disdain towards ex-slaves pumped full of lyrium, the woman had obviously decided he was best set aside where he could not offend the Inquisitor’s eyes. He stopped Hawke from assaulting the well-meaning servant with a piece of his mind with a hand at his lover’s shoulder. He leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“We are here to ease the Inquisitor’s way into high society, not obstruct it, we will not achieve that much by fighting the system.” Hawke tensed under his touch, unconvinced. Fenris used his best trump card against Hawke’s temper. “My love.” he said sweetly. “You heard the man, it will be a brief separation, you’ll have me by your side again sooner than you think.”

Hawke let out a grunt but did not fight him further. He turned to kiss Fenris in plain view of the guests swarming Nazari before stepping back and joining the Qunari in warding him off. Fenris raised his arm to kiss the favor tied around his wrist, and he saw Hawke’s anger dissipate and be replaced with a soft smile and a nod. 

Convinced he had done all he could to calm his husband, Fenris turned to follow the servant. The man walked well past the tables set up under a large chandelier, even further than Fenris had expected. He opened the large windows leading outside to the balcony and stepped out of the way, motioning towards the single table set in the far end of it. Fenris was incredulous but he took small steps towards the chair furthest to the right without a word and the servant soon disappeared out of sight. He had a feeling dinner would never reach him here.

He tried to find Hawke in the ocean of heads making their way towards the buffet, but could not meet his lover's eye through the clear glass panels on the windows. Fenris allowed himself only a series of nervous tugs to his sleeves, stretching his neck just enough to make out the Inquisitor's blurred form as he sat near the center of the room, Hawke at his side making frantic movements Fenris wanted to believe were protests about the treatment Fenris had received. While Adaar was not as open about liking Hawke as much as the other man was, something told him the Inquisitor would take their side on this, and the lady of the house would not be in his favor for long.

The doors to the balcony opened again and the cold breeze carried a man's voice to Fenris' ears.

"Exile, Cremisius Aclassi, the word you're looking for is exile. As in, we have been exiled."

A second voice snorted. "Yeah, I got that, Spitfire."

Two men made their way towards Fenris' table and paused once they caught sight of him. The mustached one on the right gestured wildly towards the elf and caused Fenris to tense up defensively. 

" _Vishante kaffas_ , it's official now! They have sent every honest Tevinter man in his horrid excuse for a party to freeze to death in a dark corner."

"Don't talk about him like he's not there, Dorian." The man the other had called Cremisius tugged his glove off with his teeth and extended a hand out to Fenris. "Sorry about the idiot here, he's not used to being escorted out of parties like a common thug. Name's Krem."

Fenris stared at his hand warily. Hawke mentioned a few men of Tevinter origin were part of the Inquisition so he would not be taken by surprise, but to have enough shit-luck to end up alone with two of them... He was not prepared for that.

Krem quickly took his hand back when Fenris did not shake it and he acted as if it had not happened at all, already putting his glove back on.

"This is Dorian—"

"Who can introduce himself, thank you Krem." interrupted Dorian. "I am Dorian of House Pavus—" Dorian's confident demeanor faltered for an instant and he lowered his eyes to the floor. "I mean. Not actively. Of House Pavus. It's quite a complicated story I am told. _Altus_ Mage would make for a better introduction— Oh Venehedis, that is just as bad isn't it?"

A mage. How very fitting, and by the way Pavus was stuttering he was obviously familiar with Fenris and his background. A Tevinter mage with tact and a conscience? Perish the thought. He should have listened to Hawke and stayed home, but the man was so rarely right it was hardly Fenris’ fault he had not. Dorian must have seen the plain look of disgust in Fenris’ face because he quickly tried to climb out of the hole he had dug for himself.

"Well, I hope this won't be a problem for any of us, I would hate to waste such a fine night exchanging glares. Wouldn't you agree, Krem?" Dorian’s blatant plea to be rescued was graciously answered as Krem switched topics.

"You're Fenris, are you not? I've heard a great deal about you." Krem grabbed the chair next to Fenris and pulled it back to sit down facing him. Dorian was quick to follow his lead thereafter. "I know not to trust rumors, or Varric's books, so I was wondering if you could clarify a few things."

Krem’s grin was sincere, in the same way Hawke’s was. There was something so easy-going about the way he spoke that made Fenris relax his posture the slightest bit. Krem had made an obvious barrier with his body between him and Dorian, even if their exchanged banter had hinted at friendship between the two men. He spoke to Fenris with respect, and he kept his distance at all times. Fenris looked at his hands as if they could answer the other man for him before nodding hesitantly.

"I can do that much, but not sober." he said, hoping to sound as casual as Krem did. Krem answered him with a rumbling laugh and turned to punch Dorian's bare shoulder.

"You're on drink duty, _Altus_. Go hunt down the good stuff. Quickly, before they notice one of the evil Tevinter invaders has escaped the pen."

Dorian rolled his eyes and huffed their way, but he stood without a word to procure their liquor.

\--

“ _Altus, Soporati_ … Bah! To hell with it all. We’re filthy deserters, all three of us. We might as well be called the part.” Dorian slurred through his words like they were thick as molasses, raising his tankard of ale high in the air with a shaky hand.

“Perfuga.” offered Krem, his tankard slammed into Dorian’s and sent ale flying onto the tablecloth. “A toast of Fereldan ale to shame the Imperium.”

They drank heartily and Fenris drank with them. Once he could get over the fact he was less than four feet away from a mage of the Imperium, it was surprisingly easy to share a drink with the two men. At first Dorian had brought them only wines, four bottles of it but wine nonetheless, by the fifth trip into the party Krem had convinced him to bring ale, and only then did they get well and truly wasted. After four tankards of Ferelden’s best ambrosia, they had switched to exchanging quips in Arcanum and never looked back to find the common tongue again. 

Dinner never did arrive, but the party had been long forgotten.

The three men exchanged stories from Tevinter, from Miranthous. They never strayed far from speaking about the public places where both _Soporati_ and _Altus_ were welcome. Krem’s stories were filled with adventures in the bazaars, and Dorian got a far away look when he talked about gardens with labyrinths built from rose bushes. Fenris had no happy stories to share, and he was not ready to entrust to the two men whatever vague memories of his childhood he had recovered in time, but neither Dorian nor Krem pushed him to speak and they filled the silence with more tales whenever Fenris became tense. 

A couple more chugs of liquor and Krem and Dorian taught him a downright disgusting tavern song that had all three of them shouting at the top of their lungs without any care about the party going on inside, it was nothing compared to their celebration under the natural light of the moon.

“I would teach Hawke this song were I not afraid he’d corrupt our girls with it.” Fenris tipped back the tankard and made a noise when he found it empty.

“Girls?” asked Dorian curiously. “You’ve children?”

“Twins. They take after Hawke,” Fenris snorted. “he says the seed is strong at least once a week.”

Krem seem to choke on his next drink of ale and he looked at Fenris slack-jawed, gold liquid dripping down his chin and onto his lap.

“They are your children then? Of your own blood.” 

Fenris nodded, not quite sure why the other man found it so shocking, and Krem wiped at his mouth, looking oddly amazed. 

“I had heard rumors— had a few theories myself, but I never thought…” The man swallowed thickly and he finally seemed to snap out of his musings. “If it’s not too intrusive, are you— _Fasta vass_. Our people have no word for it. The Qunari, they call people like me _Aqun-athlok_ , someone born of one gender, but living as another.”

Fenris was familiar with the word, in Seheron some of the Qunari had called him as such. “I know the word, but I never made the connection between what I am and what it meant.”

Dorian finally butted into the conversation. “That’s because it’s Qunlat! It’s not our tongue. One can’t connect with what’s not their’s to have. Our people should have their own word for people like you, and if I may be bold enough to say so, people like me as well!”

Fenris became even more curious. “People like you?”

“Dorian _prefers the company of men,_ exclusively.” Krem’s imitation of Dorian’s voice was good enough to stun Pavus into silence for long enough to look impressed. 

“What he said. Where was I? Ah yes, a word, for who you are.” 

“You’re quite the scholar aren’t you Dorian? Why not come up with one?” Krem joked. 

The humor in his voice seemed to fly right over Dorian’s head as he gave his tankard a thoughtful look. “Maybe I will.”

\--  
Krem’s attention was drawn away from Fenris’ tale about his last night in Kirkwall by someone approaching the door to their sanctuary. He smirked knowingly and looked over his shoulder at their mutual companion. 

“Dorian.” Krem shoved at Pavus’ shoulder and when the man startled upright he motioned towards the door with his chin. “Invader.”

A Qunari twice as wide as the Inquisitor and with horns like tree branches nudged the doors open with his hip and marched inside with a lazy grin. The way Dorian growled under his breath and squared his shoulders made Fenris fear an altercation. Up until now they had steered clear of anything regarding the Qunari race, but Tevinter’s eternal rivalry with Par Vollen ran deep indeed. Simply because Dorian and Krem had left the Imperium, and served the Inquisition, it did not mean they had to like the Herald’s origin. 

“Halt, savage!” shouted Dorian, standing shakily and pointing his index finger at the man. “You approach the Imperium’s home base, and we do not tolerate intruders.” 

The Qunari answered Dorian with a throaty laugh and his posture changed, taking a more offensive stance. His arms were stretched out in front of him and he beckoned Dorian forward with one hand.

“Come on, mage. Defend your territory.”

Dorian made a valiant attempt at lunging over the table and tackling the man, but when he got too close the Qunari grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him against his chest, turning ninety-degrees and dipping Dorian down like a damsel, much to Fenris’ confusion. 

“I’ve caught myself a mage.” said the Qunari, smugly. “What will I do with him?”

“Oh, keep your bedroom games to yourself, Chief.” Krem’s elbow connected with Fenris’ shoulder and he stuck his thumb in Dorian’s direction as the mage giggled drunkenly. “This is the Chief I was telling you about. The Iron Bull.”

“I am insistent on the article.” Bull steadied Dorian back onto his feet but did not unwrap his arms from around him. The mage seemed to be entirely oblivious towards Krem and Fenris’ presence now, focused on what was clearly his lover.

“ _Amatus_ , we have been out here for hours. What took you so long to notice?” He slapped the back of his hand against the Bull’s chest. “Useless thing, you turned out to be.” 

“I would have come after you the second I arrived, Kadan, but the Inquisitor had a better idea. He wants us to make a statement about how the Inquisition feels about the relations between its Qunari and Tevinter members.” As if to make his point, Bull took Dorian’s hands in his own and began swaying about as gracefully as he could with the intoxicated man’s head lolling about. “Are you willing?”

“To traumatize a room full of stuck up Orlesians? Always, _amatus_ , always.” Dorian finally acknowledged Fenris and Krem again and brought two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure, but duty calls.”

“You too, Krem. Nazari says he wants to “make a statement” with you and something about a belching contest.” 

Krem shrugged helplessly at Fenris before standing up and giving Fenris’ shoulder one last amicable shove. “The Inquisition calls, my good man. I trust we’ll meet again?”

“Definitely. Aclassi, Pavus.” He stood up to see both of them out and hid a smile behind one of his gauntlets as the trio cut their way into the people already gathered on the dance floor. _Give them hell_ , he thought.

He almost did not notice Hawke approaching him from the side and lacing their fingers together, tugging them back out into the balcony. Their lips brushed together briefly and Hawke smiled mischieviously. 

“Come on, love. I have to make several things up to you, and Nazari asked for a scandal.” 

 

\--

Hawke hands him a note twelve days after they return home, and it brings a smile to Fenris’ face.

_Fenris,_

_Inevectus, is the word. The ascended, those who have risen above the laws set upon them. I can only hope the word I choose for myself will be half as clever as this one.  
Krem thinks it’s too syrupy, but I’m sure you will be far more receptive of it’s poetic simplicity._

_Dorian._


End file.
